Rinascimento di Donna
by Kholen Phantomine
Summary: Or, Renaissance of Woman. Yet another retelling of the birth of MoJo, with an unusual twist; it's from Joanne's point of view. Rating for Ch. 9. COMPLETE!
1. O Soave Fanciulla

AN: Alrighty, so I figure it's time for me to start a multi-chapter fic. I haven't been writing fanfiction for very long (outside of my head), but I want to try it. The worst thing that could happen is that no one reads it, but even then, my writing will improve, right? Okay, down to brass tax...

**Disclaimer: My dishes, OMGJL's characters and setting and what-not, for the most part.**

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I take a long drag off my cigarette. I usually don't smoke, what with the threat of lung disease and all, but sometimes it feels good to unwind. And today, I really need to calm down.

Mummy and Daddy went through my things this morning. I don't know why they did it today, as I've lived on my own for almost three years now, but they did. Mummy found my porn, and called the office to yell at her "revolting dyke" of a daughter. Daddy took the phone from her to apologize, but her screaming had completely unnerved me. I told my secretary I wasn't feeling well, and to cancel my appointments for the rest of the day. Heading home, I almost walked into a bicyclist, and decided I needed to calm down before I hurt someone. So, here we are.

I'm leaning against a wall. I think it's the wall of a cafe or bar of some sort. I can smell liquor, and some kind of hot vegetable dish. My stomach growls, and I realize that perhaps my distraction isn't entirely mentally based. A man and woman enter the building. They're fighting about something. I follow them in; I have a bit of an eavesdropping habit.

"Come on, Mo, we haven't... you know..."

"What, Mark? We haven't fucked?! Maybe your constant whining isn't a turn on. Why do you always blame me?"

"I'm not whining! You've been sleeping at the lot for the past three weeks, and I miss you!"

"Yeah, well, I don't miss you."

The last statement by the woman seems to crush the little blonde boy pretty sufficiently, and they fall silent. Immediately, I feel bad for listening in, but a part of me reasons that every person in what turns out to be a cafe had heard them. They weren't exactly being discreet. The woman, Mo, looks up and stage whispers. "Pookie... I just need space sometimes. You know I love you..."

The man, Mark, sighs and accepts what is obviously a frequent almost-apology. "I love you too. I'll be at the loft. See you later."

He leaves her to sit by herself at their table, whipping his scarf behind his shoulder and pushing through the door. She is composed until he exits, then covers her head with her arms and her shoulders begin to shudder with sobs.

The patrons of the cafe glance at her, and then turn away from her. Angered by their indifference, and somewhat curious about the girl, I go to sit at her table. I put a hand on her shoulder (not something I'd usually do, but she needs someone), and astonished, she looks up at me.

She is exquisite. Her complexion is flawless, her hair, while somewhat disarrayed, begs to be run through with deft fingers, boasting the texture of chocolate silk. I can't tell the colour of her eyes, they are so bloodshot. They could be brown, or hazel, or even green. But they see me, all the way down, or at least that's how they feel. I want to be watched by them for as long as possible. Her mouth, while drawn thin in anguish, is still full and innocent and ripe, and I want to touch it, to feel if it is as supple as it appears. But, I control myself; she is obviously in too much pain for my advances, and probably wouldn't appreciate them anyways, if the boyfriend is anything to go by. She opens her mouth to speak.

"Um... hi."

"Hello. Are you okay?"

"Oh, that... I will be. This happens a lot. I don't think he and I are quite suited to each other."

"Maybe, maybe not. D'you want to come back to my place and talk about it?" I ask, feeling suddenly bold.

She looks grateful, and a glimmer of something I can't recognize flickers through her eyes.

"Please? I always appreciate a little attention when I'm feeling down. I'm Maureen. Friends call me Mo."

"I heard." I grin slightly.

She flushes a surprisingly delicate shade of pink. "Right. Let's blow this joint. What did you say your name was?"

"Joanne."

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So... how'd it go, so far? What do you think? I'd really like to know, if you don't mind telling me. Reviews are to Rissa, what Mo is to Jo. Well, not quite... you see what I'm getting at though, right?


	2. Che Gelida Manina

AN: Shorter chappie, mi scusi, but it seemed like a good place to cut off. Lurveslurveslurves!

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We leave what I have learned is called the Life. Mo winds her elegant fingers around mine, and somehow, this doesn't surprise me. It's an innocent gesture, like a young girl would take the hand of a friend. Yet, I can feel the heat rising up my neck; I've always felt a bit nervous about public displays of affection, and the feel of even the flesh of her hand is perplexingly maddening. But, her hand is so soft and cold, I dare not take mine from it, depriving both of us comfort that while different, is equally appreciated.

We walk the four and a half blocks to my apartment building in almost complete silence. Mo occasionally sniffles, but that is the only sound we make, save the clacking of our heels on the pavement.

She finally speaks on the stairs up to my flat.

"Hey, I thought you might want to know that if you have as much money as the thread count in that jacket suggests, I might have to leave before entering."

I am surprised that she knows fashion as well as she does, considering her 'eighties throwback leather jacket and magenta corduroy pants (which hug her in magical places, I must add), and slightly confused by her comment.

"Why would it matter how much money I have? Are you backwards-elitist or something?"

This retort seems to please her, as she smirks widely and squeezes my hand.

We get to the landing without further conversation, and I slide the key into the lock. When the doorknob refuses to turn, I kick it upwards to un-jam it, as I've had to do many times; my landlord is a money-pinching prick, and has yet to replace it. I wonder if that's a prerequisite for the job.

Mo looks impressed by my feat, and waltzes through the door, as if it was what she did at the end of every day, and throws herself haphazardly onto my couch. I giggle despite myself; she is so gloriously undignified.

"So, is there anything I can get for you?" I struggle not to add "_my liege"._

"Erm... do you have any rum? I could use something with a bit of a burn right now."

I remember now why I invited her here, excluding her obvious loveliness, and find a bottle of Jamaican rum in a cupboard in the kitchen. I flop down beside her and hand her the bottle.

"So, do you want to start talking before or after you can't remember what you say?"

Mo smiles grimly. "Let's start now. May as well."

She takes a swig, throwing her gorgeous locks back dramatically. Each strand catches the light in a slightly different way, having an almost hypnotic effect on me. After placing the bottle on the floor beside us, she curls a bit closer to me, and begins. "I've known Mark since I was five years old..."


	3. Pensier Profondo

AN: And now, to make up for the last chapter, the longest thing I've written on this site to date! Not a huge accomplishment with only a thousand fivehundredish words, but still, I was pretty excited.

**STILL DON'T OWN, NOT GONNA EITHER!!**

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"We've been best friends since that first day we met. It was the first day of kindergarten, and his mum drove the carpool." Mo begins her story. "We both had Scooby-Doo messenger bags. His was orange, and mine was blue. We traded them, and were more or less inseparable from that point on."

She blushes furiously. "We went to junior prom together. We didn't go to senior, deciding it was too 'lame', but we did go the first year. It was awful. He kissed me that night for the first time. I know it sounds super corny, but that's the way it happened. And then... then we went back to his house, and fooled around in the basement. We got drunk off of cheap wine we found in the fridge, and we ended up... well, he lost his that night. I didn't, Mark wasn't my first, but I was his. He only lasted about two minutes, and bit my lip hard enough to draw blood. It was a nightmare. God... I just realized that Mark has never been with any woman besides me. That explains a lot..."

Mo looks lost for words. I think she just had an epiphany. My stomach finds this to be a good time to start making ungodly noises. I realize I'm still hungry.

"Maureen, is it?" I ask, oh-so smoothly, as I internally facepalm for suavity failure.

"Yeah. What?"

"I'm going to go make some ramen while you collect your thoughts." _Or get drunk, _I add silently.

She says nothing, but plucks the bottle off the floor to bring it to her lips. She got my message.

I go to the kitchen and plug in the kettle, then begin to search through my cupboard for a package of mushroom-flavoured. The noodles are buried under some bags of potatoes, and it takes me about ten minutes to notice the corner of the bag sticking up from behind a spud. I yank it out triumphantly, and I'm about to stand and turn around when I feel a tap on my back. I jump into the shelf out of panic, and Mo squeaks surprisedly. The solid wood raises a nasty lump on my forehead.

"Ow... stupid ugly cabinet!"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you..."

I sigh. "I know. What did you need?"

She hiccups softly and brushes stray curls out of her face. "I just wanted to make sure I knew where you were... also, why are you being so nice to me?"

I smile gently. "Because you needed someone to be nice to you. And as the song says,", I begin to sing, "we all need somebody to lean on."

Maureen grins hugely, then for some reason, begins sobbing uncontrollably. I backtrack furiously.

"Wait! No, don't cry, I won't sing anymore if it's that bad!"

She lets out a strangled giggle. "Your voice is pretty, Joanne. You just have no idea how good it feels for someone to say that to me, for once."

I pull her to her feet, and she wraps her arms around me, her face burrows into my shoulder and begins to leak saline into my tee-shirt. The kettle whistles insistently. I squeeze her gently, then lead her back to the couch.

"I'm a bit ravenous. I'm just going to put the water into the noodles, then I will be back, and we can talk some more, okay?"

She sniffles, and my heart breaks a little. "Okay." She grabs up the bottle of rum again, and I notice that it's almost a third gone. I am simultaneously impressed by her drinking abilities, and saddened by the fact that she wants to be so numb. _What could be so bad,_ I wonder?

When I return from relieving the whistling vessel of its fluids, Mo is staring at the ceiling and humming the song I quoted from earlier. When she sees me, she stops.

"Aww, don't do that. Your voice is pretty too."

She sighs. "It's a beautiful song, isn't it? So simple, and so wonderful. It's one of my favourites."

I give a small smile. "Mine too."

"So," I ask, "do you want to continue?"

"Yeah... just one second..." she takes another draught of the beverage, and licks her lips. "Good stuff, that is... so, where were we?"

"Mark and you had a thing in high school, and he's never had sex with anyone else?"

"Ah. Right. So, we sort of start dating. I knew he had a thing for me, and I really did like him. But... things started happening. Things I didn't really understand..." She drops off, staring into the middle distance again.

I try to help her re-catch her train of thought. "What do you mean "things"?"

She goes pink yet again. "Um... have you ever felt like something wasn't quite right? Like you didn't know if how you were feeling was actual, or if you were making it up? That's how I started feeling about Mark. When he kissed me, or put his hand up my shirt, I didn't feel much of anything. I mean, there was physical response, sure, but... it didn't feel as good as I thought it was supposed to."

I refuse to allow my mind to wander down the path it wants to. _Just because she doesn't like him, doesn't mean she doesn't like hims in general_, I remind myself forcefully.

A tear leaks out of the corner of her eye. "I just... I don't like him that much, and about a month ago, he asked me to marry him."

My throat constricts. I can't breathe. I manage to croak out a question; "Well... what did you say?"

She looks down, ashamed. "I told him I'd think about it. He's helping his best friend Roger go through heroin withdrawals right now, and I didn't want to completely crush him. He hasn't been there for me much lately, but I was almost used to it until he sprung that one on me... I don't know what to do. I love him, but I not the way he wants, and even if I did, I need more attention than he can give me. But I can't take away the only thing he has left. He's my friend, Joanne..."

As she lets this all flow out of her, she inadvertently edges closer to me. When she stops, she is pushed up against my side. I control my hormones enough to give her a warm hug without concentrating (much) on the supple breasts pressing into my rib cage, making it hard for me to breathe or think.

I clear my throat. "I can't tell you what you should do, but if you need to, you can stay here until you figure it out for yourself."

She looks up at me, blearily. "I don't want to impose on you... I barely know you, and you've been so nice to me already."

"NO," I protest, I think a bit too quickly and strongly. She looks taken aback for a moment. "I mean, really, it's fine. I get lonely sometimes, in all honestly, and... I'd like to be your friend. I like you."

She closes her eyes, and mumbles, "I like you too," and falls fast asleep against my shoulder.

My stomach gurgles again, and I can smell my ramen in the kitchen. It's ready. I carefully (and somewhat unwillingly) extract myself from her, sprint to the counter, and wolf it all down. When you are hungry, nothing tastes better than ramen noodles, in my humble opinion.

I wash out the bowl, (What? I really hate dirty dishes!) and make my way to my linen closet to find a fleece to put over the sleeping goddess on my couch. I pull a fluorescent lime one out from under my sheets, and make my way to the living room.

Mo is curled tightly into the corner I was sitting in a few minutes ago, presumably for my excess body heat. She is shivering slightly, and her breathing is shaky and uneven, belying her earlier tears. _I can't let her sleep alone like this when she's in such a state, can I?_

_Nope._ I climb onto the couch, and gather her in my arms, spreading the fuzzy blanket over both of us. She stirs slightly.

"Hey, Jo?"

_Jo? Huh, I like it. _"Yeah?"

"Thanks for spending the night with me."

"You are most welcome."

A few moments of silence.

"Hey, Jo?"

"Uhhuh?"

"Our names together make mojo. I just thought it was cool. Maybe it's a sign, right?"

I laugh aloud, thankful for the dark room that disguises the blush presently crossing my mocha cheeks as I think about the connotations of that 'sign'. "Maybe."

In answer, I receive a resounding snore, and a settling snuggle into my body.

I respond with an arm around her waist, daring to linger slightly on the curve of her hip, before bringing my hand to the soft pleather of my couch. I bury my face in her fragrant hair. "Goodnight, Maureen. And may this not be the last time I get to say it." I whisper. Then I float away on dreams of a beautiful woman with curling silken locks in a well-cut red dress, filled to the brim with the scent of cheap vanilla shampoo.

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Huh. That went better than I thought it would. Yay! Also, anyone figure out where the chapter names are from yet?


	4. Chi Guardi

AN: New chapter, just like I promised. I hope it is to your happiness whatsits.

**Disclaimer: Never gonna own it. EVER.**

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I awake chilled to the bone, and blinded by the sun pouring in through my threadbare curtains. While I'm discriminating in my fashion, my furniture is seriously lacking. I can't understand why I feel so cold, so lost, until I open my eyes. The blanket is piled haphazardly on my coffee table, and the beautiful angel that haunted my dreams last night has vanished. I can't believe that she didn't even wake me to say goodbye. I sit woodenly back onto the sofa, and behind my blinking eyelids, I can feel the sting of bitter tears. But then, I hear something.

It's the trickle of my shower! Listening carefully, I can discern the clunks reassuring me that it has only ran for about three minutes, meaning that I woke moments after she did. A warm feeling washes through me, as I think of the fact that right now, she is completely naked, and soaking wet. Then another, as I realize that she hasn't left me. The bitter part of me adds on, _yet_, but I'm too excited to acknowledge that part right now.

I make my way to my tiny bedroom to find something to wear that doesn't smell like body odour and soup base, and as I pass the bathroom door, I trip over something. As I unwind it from my foot, and bring it slightly closer to my face to inspect it, as my eyes aren't exactly amazing. I giggle as I realize what it is.

Maureen left her silver sequined bra in my hallway. It's very flashy, and seems very appropriate. My heart sinks slightly as I think that it was probably worn for Mark's benefit, but I shove those feelings down.

The hallway is illuminated as the door to the bathroom opens, and in a cloud of vanilla-scented steam, (I am amused that she brought her own shampoo with her,) Mo emerges. She sees me, and begins to stammer.

"Sorry, I... and I thought... thank you for... is that my bra?"

At her last utterance, I drop the offending article. Then, realizing that in a towel she can't very well grab it herself, I bend to pick it up, and on my way back to standing, her towel snags on my horribly bedhead-stricken hair, and the cloth is whipped from her still dripping body.

For a moment, time stops. She freezes, her colour changing from the flush of hot water, to the flush of heated embarrassment. I freeze as well, my eyes glued to her previously hidden contours. But the moment is short, maybe four seconds, and my eyes snap from her form to the stucco of my ceiling, and she snatches the towel and underclothing off the floor before falling backward back into the damp room and quickly shutting the door.

I feel wretched. I'm terrified that she'll hate me for liking what I saw, as I'm sure, completely sure, that she noticed where my vision sought solace. To keep myself busy, I make coffee and eggs, and hope that this isn't as big of a deal as what I think.

Twenty minutes later she emerges from my bathroom immaculate, and while slightly uncomfortable looking, she doesn't seem disgusted, so I set her a plate of eggs on the counter before dishing myself up.

"I'm so sorry, Mo, I didn't mean to do that..." I mumble, my gaze directed at the broken piece of linoleum beneath my left foot.

"Do what? I was just about to apologize to you about leaving my underwear in your hallway. And about the whole naked thing... I don't know why I reacted the way I did. I've been naked in front of my share of people, I'm not shy. It just felt... different with you. I... I feel like I should say sorry about that too. You looked so shocked, I can tell you aren't accustomed to hanging around with nude strangers."

_Especially not ones with breasts like a Greek goddess_, I think.

"Don't worry about it." I assure her. "I'll survive it. I'm sure."

She grins. She's so beautiful when she smiles. I hand her a fork, and we eat breakfast in amicable quiet.

The last scrapes of the fork against the plate signal the end of our meal. Mo asks if she can use my phone, and I consent. I glance at the clock above my stove and note that I don't have to go to work for another three hours, and I hope that maybe, she'll stay with me until then.

A pair of slender arms wrap around my waist, pulling me backward into a warm embrace. My eyes close in bliss, but the hug is over almost as it began. She whips me around and kisses me on the cheek, and then brings it all crashing down.

"Thanks for the phone, and thanks for everything else, really, but I really need to go home and sort things out with Mark. Nothing is right, right now, and I think maybe if we just talk about it, I can make it okay. I at least want to try. So, my friend Steve is coming to pick me up. Thank you again for your kindness. You make me feel... so at home, and I appreciate it so much."

My stomach twists at the concept of her leaving, and I wonder momentarily at my wildly fluxuating emotions, so unusual for me, before replying. "It was my pleasure, and honour. I like you Mo. Please, feel free to come back any time. Here, I'll give you my number. If you ever need anything from me, call. I'll do my best to answer. And remember, you deserve a bit of attention every now and then."

She smirks as if this is some sort of inside joke, and throws her arms around me yet again. I instinctively burrow my head into her shoulder, and I think I feel her arms tighten slightly, before she releases me.

"You are better to me than I deserve. And I most certainly will call. Feel free to do the same"

She scribbles her number on my hand, and I do the same to her. Then, we go to the couch to wait for her ride.

The night was long, and sleep was brief, and before I know it, she is asleep in my arms again. I do my best to memorize her, the way she feels, smells. I wonder if we will ever be this close again. Something tells me we will, and I am glad.

A horn blows from the street, long and insistent,. and the noise rouses Mo from her slumber. She unfolds herself like a flower, and with a wave, she flounces out the door.

As the latch clicks shut, I am overcome with every emotion I pushed back since I met her. I sink to my knees and sob into my palms, tears running into the sleeves of my sweater and pooling against my elbows. I feel confused. Angry, excited, blissful, and completely deranged. It's so different from what I'm used to.

But it can only be good. I hope.


	5. Dunque è Proprio Finita

AN: This one was actually hard to write. I re-wrote the M/M dialougue like, four times. It was _bad_. But, I think it ended up okay.

**Disclaimer: Same's always.**

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I go to work right after she leaves. My boss chews me out for leaving early yesterday. I pull a blank, before realizing that I did, indeed, leave early. In light of what happened yesterday, I had forgotten most of my regular life up to that point. I apologize, and start to work through those abandoned case files.

The day passes in a flash of grey. I feel empty, my eyes are completely shut to the world. More than once, my coworkers wave their hands in front of my face, vainly trying to bring me back to the office. But I won't come.

I can't stop thinking about her. I'm so consumed, and I've only known her for not even twenty-four hours. It doesn't make any sense! It isn't fair...

I've had girlfriends before, don't get me wrong. And I've always been a passionate woman. I love hard. But I've never felt so completely... surpassed before.

I'm afraid. I'm afraid of her. I'm afraid that she'll never speak to me again. That she'll marry him. That she can never love me is the most terrifying thought I've ever had.

I realize I'm not making sense, that she's probably not interested in me, but I want her so bad... it's driving me mad. Thank you Mr. Lennon for that unequivocally perfect sentiment.

I go home. I shower. I crawl into bed, curl up in the fetal position, and cry myself to sleep like a little girl.

At two in the morning, I suddenly wake up. I don't know why. It takes me about two minutes to realize that what roused me at such an ungodly hour was the ringing of my home telephone.

My only thought is _Maureen_.

The phone is in the kitchen. I run blindly through the dark towards it, knocking over something that I hear shatter, but I ignore it and get to the phone just as my voicemail kicks in.

I sigh, and resign myself to waiting until the stupid machine shuts up. The little tape inside clicks, and begins to relay its message.

"Hello," the tiny replica begins, "this is Joanne Jefferson's residence. If you wish to leave her a personal message, kindly wait for the beep. If you need me for something work related, please try to reach me on my mobile telephone at -" BEEP.

I cringe inwardly, just as I always do after listening to that travesty, noting yet again that I need to change it. Mo's voice is the next thing I hear. My heart breaks; she sounds like she's upset.

"Joanne? Jo? This is Maureen, I... I need your help. My boyfriend, Mark... we're at the hospital. I... something happened. Can you come here? Please? Hopefully, I'll see you soon." The tape stopped.

I stand frozen. Three seconds tick by, and they feel about seven-hundred times longer than that. Then, I unfreeze. I snatch my jacket up, grab my door key off of the wall, and whip out the door, just remembering to lock it as I run. In the street I catch a cab, by some divine miracle, and I manage to tell the man in the driver's seat where I'm headed. In five gruelling minutes, we arrive. I pay the man, sprint across the parking lot, and within minutes find myself standing at the foot of a hospital bed.

In the bed lays Mark, the blonde boy I first saw with Maureen, just two days ago. He is pale. The plastic tubing of a feeding tube is shoved down his throat, and his eyes flutter under his bruised lids. Mo is in the shifty plastic chair near the head of the bed. Her lower lip is chewed to pieces, and her eyes are as red as the dress she wore in my dreams.

She jumps up from her seat and throws herself into my arms, sobbing freshly renewed. Startled, I crash into the medical cart behind me. The resulting clatter wakes the ashen creature beneath the sheets.

He is confused momentarily, looking unsure of his surroundings, before deciding on something that I couldn't see, and forcibly removing the hose from his oesophagus. He coughs uncontrollably for a few moments, massages his throat, and shakily attempts to stand.

Mo watches until this point in shocked silence. When his bare feet touch the chilled floor, however, she flies into a quite terrifying rage. She darts over to him and grabs his ankle, hoists it above her head, and drops it back into the bed, depositing a lost looking Mark into the dip his unconscious form made over the last... however long that he was laying there.

"I swear to God, babe, if you ever do that to me again, I'll do something drastic!"

I'm lost in this conversation, and starting to feel the effects of being awake at what is now three-thirty in the morning. I try to make them make sense. "Wh... what?" I ask. I am unsuccessful.

Mo continues to fume. "You haven't eaten in a week and a half, the doctor's report says so. Where the hell has your money been going?"

Mark looks unabashed. "Where do you think? Roger needs AZT, and it's not like he can pay for it."

"You need to eat, you idiot! You passed out, Mark! I couldn't wake you up, I had to call an ambulance!"

"You called an ambulance?!"

"How else was I going to get you here?"

"They'll bill us!"

"So? You were out cold. You were out cold for three hours. Nothing I did roused you. Ice water, smelling salts, oral sex, nothing!"

Mark's eyebrow flicks up. "Oral sex?"

"Never mind that! Marky, you need to be a little more selfish. Or you're going to kill yourself."

"I can't afford to be selfish. Roger needs all the help he can get."

"I won't watch you destroy yourself. You are important too, damnit!"

"Roger is defenceless. Right now, he takes precedence. I'll live."

"You almost starved to death!"

"I'm fine."

"You are so blind!"

Mark falls silent for a moment. "I'm not..."

"Mark, you have worth. And... I'm sorry for the timing, but for that very reason, I'm leaving you."

"What?!"

"I don't love you. You deserve to be with someone who does. So, I release you."

He looks lost for words. Tears slowly trickle down his face. He turns, hiding the offending saline in his pillow.

Mo looks as if she's being made to saw off her own arm. I know from what she told me that night that this can't be easy for her. Breaking your best friend's heart never is.

"M-Mark," she stutters, "I do love you. Just not as a lover. You'll always matter to me."

"Go away," is his muffled reply. So she does. I follow her out of the room. I don't think he ever really noticed I was there, and that suits me fine.

I fall into step behind her as she makes her way out of the building. I hear her sobs, and want to reach out and comfort her, but I know that if there is ever a time she doesn't want comfort, it's right now. The night, or I suppose early morning, greets us like a spurned lover: bitterly.

I look over at her, and catch her eye. It's still red, still beautiful, and still unreadable.

"I'm so sorry you had to witness all of that, Jo," she mumbles.

"It's alright. I do have a question though."

"What?"

"Why did you call me? It's not that I mind, but I admit, I'm confused."

"Well... honestly?"

"Yeah. I won't get mad, if that's what you're getting at."

She smiles a tiny smile. "Thanks. I just... I was scared. So I wanted you there. You make me feel safe."

I know that feeling. She does the same thing to me. Too bad it's not exactly, under the obvious. "I'm glad you thought of me, and I'm even happier that I could help. So, where exactly are you going now?"

The smile slips off of her lips. "I don't know. The lot that I perform at, I guess."

_She performs? _"Does this lot have heating?"

"Um... not exactly..."

"What does that mean?"

She sighs. "It means no. It also doesn't have a building with four intact walls."

I'm aghast. "Then you are coming home with me."

"But I've already imposed-"

"No, you haven't. I like having you around."

"Well... I like being around you, too."

Internally, I beam. "That settles it, doesn't it?"

For the second time in two hours, I hail a taxi. But this time, I feel a hell of a lot better.


	6. Si Può?

AN: Hiya guys! Yay, long weekend, and Happy Easteriness to you all! I just slept till noon for the first time since... I can't even remember! So, woo! If I decide I love you, you might have a new chapter by the end of the weekend. Also, this was written at three in the morning, so if there's anything wonky about it, please notify me. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: OMFGJL's, not mine.**

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First, we go to the apartment that Mo used to share with Mark. She needs her other clothes and such. For some reason, she keeps staring off into space and biting her lip, and her fingers fidget with the hem of her shirt, twiddling faster as we get closer to the building. To reassure her, I grab her hand. She squeezes it gratefully, as tears building up behind her eyes sink back in submission. I still don't know what's bothering her, but I'm glad I could help her with it.

The cab stops right below the building Mo described to the driver. She takes a deep breath and exits the vehicle. I follow suit. Mo shivers, and I notice that she is wearing nothing but a simple tee-shirt. I lend her my coat. Daddy always told me to dress in layers, and I'm very glad I do right now, as the chill air attempts to pry through the wool of my pullover, even if it always made mummy cringe.

Mummy… I remember the fight we had the other day. I resolve to call her at some point today. Preferably after getting some sleep.

Mo goes straight to the payphone near the entrance. She pokes at some numbers, and I hear a phone ringing through her earpiece. At the same time, the corresponding alarm can be faintly heard through a window at the top of the building. Then, it ceases. An odd honking sound comes out near Mo's ear, and she makes an exasperated face before beginning to speak.

"Roger. Roooooger. ROGER, GODAMNIT I NEED THE KEY YOU IDIOT!"

The window opens, and a grungy, lank man pops out and onto the fire escape. He shouts back at her.  
"Do you have to YELL? Jesus, I was sleeping, bitch!"

"I love you too, Roggie. Throw me the key."

Murderous muttering can be heard as said unlocking device clatters to the street in front of us. Mo picks it up, and turns to me with an apologetic smile on her lips.

"Sorry, he sleeps like a rock. Screaming is a necessity with him. And he seems to be having a better day, so we should be fine."

My eyes widen at her.

"A better day…"

Then I remember the conversation in the hospital room, and the one in my living room. Roger was going through heroin withdrawals right now, if I was correct. My stomach does an odd, lurching sort of dance. But, if Mo isn't worried, I won't be either. Parts of me are still skeptical, but I shut them up. I've been trying to be more trusting of people.

We unlock the door, and go up. The staircase is dark, cold, and dirty. I shudder slightly at the smell of burning Campbell's Tomato Soup and old marijuana. The top takes about four minutes to walk up to. Mo hauls the door open, and we step inside.

The loft is spacious, and would be worth a good deal, if it were situated in a better part of town. It would be beautiful, too, if not for the littered state of it. Empty cereal and pizza boxes are spread over the floor, and there are numerous plates and stained coffee mugs filling the sink. I sit down, in order to keep myself from falling. I don't deal with mess well at all.

The man from before, Roger, is standing near the large window. His clothes hang off of him, and there are dark circles under his greenish eyes. I regret depriving him of the sleep he so desperately seems to need, but Mo is oblivious to this. I sigh a little. Roger walks over and sits beside me.

"Hi. I'm Roger. I live here."

"Joanne. I'm Maureen's new roommate."

He looks at me for a moment blankly.

"Wait... she's moving out? What about Mark?"

I feel incredibly awkward.

"Well... they kind of broke up."

He looks shocked. Then, the moment passes. His eyes glass over, and he curls into a ball on the floor. He's sobbing. I don't know what to do. Honestly, I'm terrified.

"April... April... God..."

He's rocking back and forth and muttering. I don't know what to do, so I do what I instinctively think I should. I crawl over to him and wrap my arms around his shaking form.

His body tenses up. His body is over heating, I can feel sweat from his body soaking through his clothes and into mine, but I don't let him go. I feel him go slack. He's drifted off.

I pick him up; the waif doesn't exactly weigh much, so it isn't hard. I place him on the couch, pull a ratty looking blanket over him, and go find Mo. After that, I don't want to be alone again.

I find her in a smallish room, separated from the living room by a length of plastic. She's collecting some clothes into a large cloth sack. I sit on the bed, then realize whose it is, and leap back up, as if electrocuted by it. Mo doesn't notice. She's a bit preoccupied right now.

"Hey," I attempt to strike up some sort of conversation.

"Mm," is her nebulous reply.

"Roger just had a withdrawal fit, I think."

"Mm... wait, what?"

"Mo, we can't leave him here. Not like this, not on his own."

She sighs. "I know. And Mark won't be back until later."

"He's your friend. You know we shouldn't leave him."

"Then... we stay. Only until Mark gets back. Roger has put Mark through hell, and for that I'm pissed at him, but he's a bit helpless right now."

"Good."

Between us, we move him to his bedroom, another sectioned off alcove on the opposite side of the loft, and bring a bottle of AZT and a glass of water with us. Amazingly, he doesn't wake up. And we fall asleep as well, at the foot of his bed.

At seven, an irritating beeping noise wakes me. Mo is wrapped around me, her head resting on my chest. She's so adorable when she sleeps, I don't want to move her, in case she wakes. But, I notice that the sound is coming from the beeper at Roger's waist, and putting two and two together, I figure out that this is for his medication. What else would an unemployed twenty-something have to do with a beeper? I wiggle out of Mo's grasp, and she moans slightly, but continues to snore.

I look back at her. I want to curl back up with her, and just watch her sleep, but I can't. Someone has to take responsibility, and if it can't be the withdrawing HIV patient who watches himself, I'll do it. I can't stand it when people are left helpless. That's why I became a lawyer. Well, it was also because that's what daddy paid for, but still!

I gently shake Roger awake. He drowsily opens his eyes.

"Who are you?"

"Joanne. We've met."

"Oh... well, anyways, I'm Roger. Night then!"

I shake my head. "Nope. AZT break, my dear." I hand him the bottle. "Take two."

He fiddles with the lid for a moment before giving up. I carefully take the bottle from him, pop off the cap, and remove two pills. He opens his mouth, like a two year old in a high chair. I place the pills in his mouth, pick up the glass of only slightly stale water, and tip it against his lips. He sputters, swallows, looks at me for a few seconds, then falls back against the pillows, completely out.

I mimic his action, flopping back into position tight against Maureen, curling up in a ball, absorbing her scent, her presence. I can't sleep, so I watch her do it for me. Her hair falls over her face, so I slide my index finger under it and place the unruly strand with its brothers, cascading over her shoulder. Mo makes a sound in the back of her throat and leans into my hand. My heart melts. I don't know if I want her to wake up; when she's awake, she's beautiful and vibrant and enrapturing. But when she's awake, she's also heterosexual. I suddenly want to cry again, but I push it down. If I cry now, I might wake them both up, and that simply wouldn't be fair.

I lay beside her for another hour, just watching and thinking. I'm just starting to contemplate waking her up when the phone begins to ring. Her eyes fly open, and she immediately jumps up and runs to the phone, dodging obstacles with ease. Mo grabs a cushion off the couch and presses it down onto the phone, muffling the ringing. I raise my eyebrow in confusion at her, and she mouths the word _voicemail_. I understand now.

The honking noise, which is actually Roger and Mark's voices saying "SPEEEAK" simultaneously, sounds, as does the beep, and I can hear the voice of the skinny white boy on the other end. Mo lifts the pillow off the speaker so that she can hear him.

"Hey, Rog... Sorry I'm not there right now, but with any luck you're still sleeping. If you wake up before I get there, and you notice this message, I'll be home at about seven-thirty. I'll bring you some food. See you."

The tape stops, and the little red light flashes. I look up at Mo.

She meets my eye with anxiety. "I can't see him right now. He can't find me here. Not yet. I'm not prepared for it," she insists.

"Then I'll help you finish getting your things. You don't have to yet. No one would expect you to."

We complete the task quickly, and are out the door and down the street well before Mark is supposed to arrive.

I decide against a taxi this time. I realize that my place isn't that far from her old one, and with such scant possessions, walking is not a hassle.

When we reach the apartment, I kick the door in again, and this time, we both crash onto the couch, and blissfully conk out as soon as we hit it. A vague thought rolls through my mind as my eyes close: _I don't think I'm going to make it into work today..._


	7. Si Sgombrino le Sale

AN: Hi guys. Two things, s'il vous plait; Firstly, do the characters seem hideously OOC to you, or am I just paranoid? Mo is freaking me out! Lastly, as I finish off this chapter with my lovely author's note, it is three-twenty seven in the morning. This is Scandinavian for I LOVE YOU! Well, actually, it isn't, but I'm sure you understand. Also, the chapter title may not seem to fit, but the translation I came up with for it made me laugh, because in my mind, awkwardly, it worked. Good appetite, people!

**'Sclaimer: RENT no be mines.**

* * *

I don't wake up until two in the afternoon. I haven't done this since I was fourteen, and every speck of grey matter in my head is screaming WRONG at the top of its lungs. But, I have a gorgeous woman entwined in my arms, so it's not as bad as it could be. The moment is only slightly tainted by the fact that I'm missing work right now, and my boss is probably going to tear me to absolute pieces tomorrow.

I lay back and enjoy Maureen. She's soft, and warm, and fits against me so perfectly it's almost frightening. It kills me not to run my fingers over her, to memorize her with my eyes closed, but I don't want to disgust her. If by some impossible chance she could actually ever be even remotely interested in me, I don't want to scare her off. If not, I still don't, because as brief as our relationship has been so far, she's the closest thing I've ever had to a best friend. I never want to not see her again.

I don't make friends well. I'm shy most of the time, and I'm jealous, and brutally blunt. It's a huge barrier to overcome, and Mo has done it without even trying. She amazes me.

She moans unconsciously and nuzzles into my shoulder. Her face is about an inch away from mine, and I can barely breathe. My insides constrict, and I have a horrible realization.

I have to pee. I have to pee _now._

And I can't go pee without waking her up. The girl is on top of me, I can't just wiggle a little and break free. I can't move at all.

The only thing I have left that I can move is my head.

_Shit_. I try to wake her up with my voice.

"Mo. Maureen. Wake up! WAKE UP! I HAVE TO PEE!"

Somehow, this does nothing. She is the most selectively and oddly heavy sleeper I have ever met. A phone rings three miles off and it wakes her up, but I yell directly into her ear, and nothing. I am awestruck by the absurdity of reality for a second, before it kicks back in and notice that her hip is digging into my bladder.

I weigh my options. The clock ticks. My abdomen shrieks like a mad person. I come up with one solution.

I have to lick her face. It's all I can think of.

I pray for forgiveness to no one in particular, then stick out my tongue. It hits the tip of her nose, the only part of her that I can reach in this position. It doesn't wake her up.

Without opening her eyes, she tilts her head back, and my tongue slips into her mouth. What's more, she follows up, sticking hers into mine.

I'm kissing Maureen. It's the most fantastic moment of my life, and I don't even think she's awake.

Her lips taste like cinnamon. I don't even begin to know why, but I don't care. I'm filled with light. With song. Gospel, I think. She bites down gently on my lip, and I very nearly melt. I can feel her body heating up, and mine, and everything feels so right. For the first time, kissing feels like fireworks. Her skin feels so soft, her mouth so inviting, and her eyes...

Her eyes are open.

I freeze. So does she. For what seems like the millionth time, a pink flush crawls down her face.

She flops off of me, landing with a very audible thud on my wooden floor. Neither of us speak. I can't breathe. I can't think.

"I need to pee," tumbles from my mouth, and I stumble to my bathroom, throw myself through the door and close it quickly behind me. I lock it carefully.

I decide that right now, hiding is the best idea. Taking as long as possible, I relieve myself, wash my hands, and then, because I can't think of anything else, I sit on the floor, and hope that if I wait, it'll all go away.

After about ten minutes of ridiculousness, I give up, and return to the living room. Mo is sitting on the couch, still looking exceedingly distressed. I join her. Silence pounds against my eardrums. Then, she speaks.

"I... I'm sorry, I forgot where I was, and I thought... it was an accident, and-"

"Don't apologize. Please. I can't handle it."

"... What? Why?"

I grab hold of my courage by its cajones, and I spit out my confession.

"I liked it. I like you. A lot. God..." I curl into myself, bringing my knees to my chest, wanting to die, or disappear, something that doesn't involve how bad her next words are sure to hurt.

She splutters. "You... do? But... how... what... why didn't you tell me before?"

I'm flabbergasted. She didn't scream, or cry, or yell, or puke. I'm utterly stunned.

A hand waves in front of my face.

"Hello? You okay?"

I finally find my voice.

"I was afraid... that you'd hate me."

Mo looks down at her hands, those beautiful hands.

"I could never hate you."

"Oh," is all I can manage before falling silent again.

Suddenly, I'm experiencing extreme déjà vu, and my taste buds again pick up the taste of cinnamon.

Except, it isn't just déjà vu, Maureen is kissing me. She is kissing me. Intentionally.

I accept this new reality in place of the old one with open, loving arms, and in it, wrap those arms around her waist.

I'm in ecstasy. Her hands are up in my hair, and her lips are sucking lightly at mine, and I feel so damn good. My fingertips catch on the material of her shirt as I slide them up her side, just as I had imagined doing earlier. She is perfect, feels like a willow branch, but decidedly curvier. My hands explore her, find her breasts, her neck, her hips, the small of her back, thigh, and my fingernails rake impatiently at the barriers between them and her flawless alabaster skin. Her tongue flicks across the inside of my cheek, tasting me, and I taste her, and she's like sugar and spice. I push her down onto the cushion, and finally, I find the waistband of her jeans and dip into it. She's finding me, her own hands running over my body, caressing my neck, collarbone, chest...

My world is cold. I open my eyes, and she's five feet away, standing, rapidly buttoning her jacket.

"Sorry... gonna take a walk," she mutters.

Mo slams out of the apartment. I stare after her, disbelievingly.

For the second time in less than a week, I need a smoke. I grab the box out of my bedside table drawer, and move gravitationally out onto my fire escape.

I grab the white cylinder with my lips and pull it out of its place, strike a match, and light it. The flame licks the tip, turning it briefly orange. I extinguish the match in a pot of soil that I have prepared for the spring, I think it has a tulip bulb in it, and inhale deeply. In, and then out. My head stops quaking, my heart slows to a more manageable beat. I close my eyes, and contemplate what the hell is going on.

I have no clue. I just want Mo to come home. Home, to me.


	8. Oh! Essa! Musetta!

AN: Hi there! I know this one's a bit short, but I needed to warn you all about the rating change. After this update, it will be M. You've been warned. And I'm sure you can guess why. Also, this story will be ending soon. So's you know.

**Disclaimer: Nope.**

* * *

Ten minutes go by. Ten minutes of absolute hell. I berate myself for not following after her, it was so stupid! I just… froze up. I scan the street from the fire escape, watching for her, praying that nothing got to her. It's too cold to be wandering around, and her coat is thin.

My lips are still chapped from earlier, and my stomach is still knotted. I'm not sure what happened, and it kind of scares me. Mo is incredibly inconsistent, and it's giving me a headache. I feel how you feel when you're little, and you go play in the snow with just a jacket on; your torso is warm, but you're soaked and frigid from the waist down. It's a thoroughly unpleasant sensation, very confused.

Finally, I glimpse her curled head bobbing towards me from around a corner. The horrible feeling goes away, and my knees give out in relief. Oxygen floods to my brain, as I regain breathing capabilities.

I don't call out to her, I just watch her carefully to make sure she isn't followed. This might sound creepy, but I really don't trust people, especially not around someone as important to me as she is.

Mo enters the building, and I go back to sit in the living room, to wait. It takes her exactly a minute and twenty-six seconds to climb the staircase and walk to my door. She tries to open my door, without success, and I go to help her. It opens milliseconds before I get close enough for it to hit me in the face. _Finally, some good luck_.

Her hair is completely disarrayed, her cheeks bright scarlet from the cold, and her breathing is labored. She rests momentarily against the doorframe, before entering to sit cross-legged on the floor. Shame is spelled out on that wind bitten face, and it hits me in the gut like an axe. Suddenly, I feel angry at her.

"What the hell was that? What were you doing, walking out into the city on your own! You could've been killed, or raped! What was going on in your head?"

She looks at the floor, bashfully, before redirecting her gaze at me.

"Do we really have to talk about this?"

I hide my further frustration beneath a mask blank of emotion. "Yes, we do."

She sighs and rises to her feet, and grabs my hand, like it's an anchor. "Joanne… I like you too. A lot. It scares me. I've always had boyfriends, and I really liked them, but these feelings I have for you… I've never had them before. Especially not for a girl. When I kissed you this morning, I didn't know where I was. I thought you were Mark. But then I felt something different, something deep, something ferocious, that I never did before, and when I opened my eyes and saw it was you, I was a bit freaked."

I take this all as calmly as possible. "Then… Why did you kiss me again? Why would you do that, if you were so uncomfortable?"

"I wanted to see if it wasn't just a fluke. It was sort of an experiment. And it definitely wasn't a fluke, it felt amazing."

"Why'd you stop?"

Mo looks embarrassed again. I feel a bit bad for her, but I need to know.

"I stopped because I got to your breasts, and remembered that you were a girl. My first instinct was to run, so that was what I did."

I no longer feel angry. Now, I want to cry. I try to push it down again, but it won't go. The tears leak down my face, betraying me. God, how I hate them.

"Hey, don't cry… I wasn't finished. Joanne, I really like you. I took a walk to think, and I made my decision. Joanne, look at me, please?"

I rub the saline off of my face, and grudgingly look up at the, I now realize, hazel-eyed girl. A flicker of hope pushes up in my chest.

"I decided that I quite like your breasts, after all. I'm so sorry I ever thought I didn't. Jo, you make me so unbelievably happy, when I let myself enjoy you. And I'm tired of telling myself things that are just lies. I want to give myself a chance to love you. Please, can I have that chance?"

The little critical voice in my head says _wait,_ but the rest of me says _screw off, little voice!_ I wrap my arms around her, and with a silent nod, I capture her lips in mine.

All resistance melts away. We are finally one.


	9. Io Resto

AN: Last real chapter! And it's only really the second half of the last one! But, it had to end there, you know? I can't control where the end wants to be. Next is the epilogue. Caution: Graphic sex ahead! Enter if you dare! If it bothers you, you can skip this chapter. There's nothing huuugely important. I love you readers, especially Ms. Liana, who has reviewed every chapter with zeal. I also love the rest of you, but your names are harder to write, and I'm really tired. Part of the fanfiction disease is updating at ridiculous points of the night. Anyways, enjoy yourselves!

**Disclaimer: is unnecessary, really.**

* * *

I find myself shocked by how forceful she is when she knows what she wants. She throws herself into my arms, pressed tight against me, and crawls her hands up the back of my shirt. Her lips are hot on mine, her tongue running over my mouth, prying it open, powerful and persistent. The tips of her fingers leave trails of shivering heat on my skin, melting me. I want her. Need her. Now.

I turn my head to find that elegant neck, and bite gently into it. She moans deep in her throat, and my breath catches. I suck, and the taste of her skin is overwhelming, like cream and sweat and so fucking good. I realize I'm naked from the waist up, don't know how it happened, or when. Don't care. I help Mo join me.

Her arms are around my neck, and she's so close to me I can feel under her skin. Her nipples are biting into me, and I revel in how it feels. I grab her ass and squeeze, and she jolts. _Mmm..._

We lose the rest of our clothing. Her body is covered in a sheen, almost transparent, and she is perfect. Her knee comes up between my legs, rotates in the dampness. Gods...

Her mouth on my neck, chest, stomach, thighs, _don't stop_...

Tongue like velvet, and damn, it's clever, and I scream. Someone bangs on the wall, I scream louder. My legs are shaking, and I can't breathe...

The universe explodes into a sea of gold sparks, and I feel, see, hear, taste everything, and God said it was good, or something to that effect...

Her eyes, now a mirror of that golden sea, look up at me. Her breathing matches mine; ragged. Flame is in her cheeks, and her breasts are heaving, and now it's her turn. I flip her over, onto her back. Hair splays over her chest, and I carefully move it aside, taking time to caress her, know the softness of her skin, torture her like she tortured me.

I unwrap her like a sacred gift. My index finger glides into her, and she makes the tiniest sounds as I move in, inch by inch. I kiss her thighs, and they quiver at my touch. I pump in and out, adding my ring finger, help with my mouth. I make her sing out, and it's beautiful.

Spasms wrack her body, she tightens around me, fluttering, and then, she is peaceful. I feel the vibrations, and bite my lip. I've always enjoyed helping others. I suck on my fingers to clean them. She tastes of milk and honey. She is my promised land.

I take her in my arms, and hold her close. It feels right, the way we fit so snugly. She murmurs my name.

"Joanne?"

"Mm?"

"I want to stay like this."

"Me too, Honeybear."

"Is that what I am? Why?"

I smile sleepily. "Because it fits."

She matches my expression. "You're right. Thank you."

"Don't thank me."

She sighs. "Fine. Thanks to everyone in general then."

I catch a smirk play on her lips for a moment, before my eyes give up and close. The rhythm of her heartbeat is irresistible. It makes sense, though; everything about her is.

Before I drift off to sleep, I hear something. Something that wasn't intended for my ears. Something that makes my whole life worth living.

"I love you, Jo. I really think I do," she whispers to herself.

_I love you too,_ I think. And I mean it. I think we'll be okay.


	10. Epilogo: Marcello Finalmente!

_**Several Months Later…**_

I keep telling myself over, and over. _We're okay, we're okay, we're okay…_

I hope to God it's true. Maureen wanted me to fix some stupid thing at her protest, and the engineer hasn't shown up and I don't know what I'm doing! I don't know where Mo is. I have a really bad feeling about it. _Shut up, Joanne; stop jumping to the worst conclusion! _I poke feebly at some knobby things on the sound board.

I hear the door creak open. I turn, expecting to see the woman I hired, but instead, my eyes are greeted by a skinny white nightmare; Maureen called Mark.

"Ah. You're Joanne?"

"I told her not to call you."

After that lovely bit of bonding, we start to chat.

"I understand, you know," he begins.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"How she makes you feel. Gets under your skin. Makes you want to die."

I refuse to relate to this boy, but that annoying little voice in my head pricks up at his words.

"You're wrong."

"Don't bother, Joanne. She's mangling your heart, I can see it."

"It's different with me!"

"You can't even leave her."

I deflate. He hit a sore spot.

"You might be right…"

I'm scared now. Someone else noticed the treatment, too. The voice is in full control of me now. The optimism section of my brain is out of order.

I voice my deepest fear. "She cheated, didn't she? On you, I mean."

His eyes flash like cold steel, and it unsettles me. "Yeah. Fuckin' cheated."

I feel hollowed out. _It would explain her absences_, I think. Maureen cheated.

Then, I remember that night in the hospital. I thought he didn't notice me, but now I think I'm wrong. _Oh God… he thinks she cheated on him with me._

Then, he goes on to describe all the boys that she used to drool over. I don't know what to think of all of this. This has been one of the most horrible experiences of my life; my trust is gone. I try to push out the voice of doubt, but she's firmly rooted now. _Thanks, Mark._

But, I know I can't really blame him. And if it's meant to be, then everything will be okay. That much, I'm very sure of. And despite what I want to do right now, I'm not giving up on her.

"So," Mark cuts into my thoughts, "has she ever called you 'Pookie'?"

I snort. What a ridiculous petname. "No, egghead. That's what she called you."

"I know she did. I think it's what she calls all of her tricks. It's so generic! That way, if she yells it out during sex, she doesn't get in trouble."

"I can't believe you! How could you say that, you asked her to marry her?"

He pales. "She told you?"

"Yes. Now hold your tongue about my girlfriend, or I'll injure you, you scrawny little boy!"

The phone rings. I answer, as Mark inserts the last cord. "We're patched!" I shush him, and bring the phone to my ear.

"Hello?"

"Hey-

"Honey, we're-

"Pookie!"

"…Pookie? You never call me… forget it. We're patched." I slam the phone down, feeling entirely sick.

Mark smirks at me. I could kill him.

I sit on the floor, and pull my knees to my chest.

_We're okay, we're okay, we're okay, we're okay_…

And I'll make it that way.

* * *

HAHA! So, this is the epilogue. The end, as it were. Or... is it? Okay, okay, that was really bad, I'm sorry. Yes, I'm writing a sequel. I haven't made many decisions about it at this point, so it might be a while coming. In Rissa-Speak, this could be anywhere from three days to three weeks. I thank you all for reviewing and being lovely, or reading and being lovely, or just being lovely in general :D Arrievedernci, for now!


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